


Barton, I was never a Ninja…always a Samurai

by lola381pce



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Maria Hill, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Phil Coulson, Blood, Bloodlust, Coulson lightly sweat covered torso, Coulson's broad hairy naked chest, Death, Explicit Language, Gen, Gun Violence, Hidden Depths, Knifeplay, Samurai, Samurai Coulson, Serious Injuries, Some Humor, Sorry no porn or smut or sex this time, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Violence, Violent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emil Gustafson, master purveyor of merchandise for torture porn, rape and slavery rings is back and contacts Coulson with an invitation to one of his “little evenings”; this one will be special event for them all  –  unknown to the four the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents they were to be the main attraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barton, I was never a Ninja…always a Samurai

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up to ‘Chapter five: Maria’ from ‘So no more runnin’. I am to misbehave’. I've taken the relevant section from that fic and added it as Part 1 to this work with the original Samurai Coulson story now reading as Part 2. Hope that makes sense?!
> 
> There's no smut/porn in this story (no seriously, there's not) but Coulson's broad, hairy chest does make an appearance as does his lightly sweat covered torso :)
> 
> “Strategy is the craft of the warrior.” – Miyamoto Musashi, The Ground Book from ‘The Book of Five Rings’ (Go Rin No Sho)
> 
> "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." - William Goldman, The Princess Bride
> 
> "Stab them with the pointy end." The Game of Thrones
> 
> As always, the characters belong to Marvel, the rest is the ramblings of a tired mind. Have fun! Thanks for reading and please feel free to leave comments - it helps to know what you think :)

**PART 1**

“So long and short of it is: Barton and Romanoff are on mission; Coulson you’ve met this asshole before so you cover the mark; Hill, you’re Coulson’s plus one. Questions? No? Good. Out.”

“Succinct as always, Director.”

“Whatthefuckever. Out.”

“I’ll pick you up at 19:30hrs,” Coulson told Hill as they left Fury’s office. She sighed and nodded. It had been while since she'd done an undercover mission but it was purely surveillance with minor contact so it should be a cake walk.  The downside was she had to read the file before tonight and she had to play dress-up.  

***

As punctual as always Phil rang Maria’s doorbell at 19:30hrs. She looked at her watch and smiled. Knowing Coulson he probably got there early, worked out how long it would take him to get to her door and waited until the allotted time was reached before ringing the bell at exactly 19:30hrs. She opened the door.

“I’m not that anal and quite frankly I resent the implication,” was the first thing he said.

“How do you do that?” He just smiled that inscrutable Coulson smile.

“You look incredible,” he told her. And she did wearing a long, sleeveless dress; high at the front with a plunging V at back to the dimples above her ass (just) and a pair of Manolos. The deep red of the dress complimented her colouring and her dark hair was piled artfully on top of her head.

“Fuck you too,” she groused back at him. He grinned at her knowing full well she preferred her tac-suits and leather boots, even her workout gear but this, dressed to the nines, this was torture to Deputy Director Hill. If only A.I.M. and H.Y.D.R.A. et al knew. Fortunately, Coulson had taught her how to walk in a pair of high heels so at least she was secure in the knowledge she wouldn’t go arse over tit during the mission.

“You look okay,” she said grudgingly deliberately understating his appearance.  Coulson wore suits every day and always looked good in them but when he wore a tux…whoa!

His grinned widened and he held out his arm to her, “Shall we, Gabriella?”

She took his arm “Delighted, Cody.”

Although she knew the mark and his associates were vile reprobates Hill still asked “Anything I should know about him?”

“Yup – he’s a tool.”

She rolled her eyes. Wonderful!

***

Cody handed over his invitation to the bedecked, bejewelled and be-whateverthehellelse footman at the door. Their mark was well known for his grandiose, ostentatious parties and this looked like it would be no exception.

“Cody Morgan,” rasped a tall, extremely handsome man who enveloped Coulson in a hug while pushing his erection against him. Fortunately Coulson’s years of extensive S.H.I.E.L.D. training and his own impressive self-control prevented him from punching the guy in the face. Coulson cared little that the mark was bi, in fact he had no interest in the man’s sexual proclivity whatsoever, but he knew how sick and depraved the guy and his associates were; the torture porn, the rapes, the slavery - the list went on. It’s why S.H.I.E.L.D. was watching him in the first place.

“And who is this delectable creature?” he asked clasping Hill’s hand.

“Emil Gustafson, this is Gabriella Boschetti.”

“Enchanté, my dear” bending down as though to kiss her hand. In actual fact he licked it with the flat of his tongue from her finger tips to her wrist. Once more S.H.I.E.L.D.’s training instructors were to be congratulated. Hill’s face changed to a demure smile and she looked at Coulson. Her expression was one of adoration but the fire in her eyes threatened something less loving in his future, disembowelling was a possibility.

“Oh my! He’s everything you said he would be,” she purred at Coulson clenching his arm; he knew there’d be bruises there in the morning.

“Isn’t he though?”

Gustafson let go of Hill’s hand and wagged his finger at them.  “I’ll be seeing you two lovelies later.”

They both smiled at him and wandered off to join the other guests.

Through her fixed smile Hill muttered, “Ohmygod!Ohmygod! Where the fuck is the nearest bathroom?

“No can do, sweetie. He’ll be watching for that. He enjoys making people ill at ease to see how they react. Put your hand in my pocket.”

“Neither the time nor the place, Cody.”

“Jacket pocket.”

“Oh!”

She did and found some wipes which she discretely managed to use with her hand still inside his pocket. No-one could say the Deputy Director wasn’t dexterous.

“Thank you, dear.”

“My pleasure, chu chi face.”

“I hate you right now.”

***

Throughout the early part of the evening Hill and Coulson stood talking to other guests subtly gathering intel about Gustafson, never asking more than a few questions of different couples before moving on to small talk and then another gathering. Hill stood with her body pressed into Coulson’s side her hands resting on his shoulder her chin on her hands. He had his arm around her the palm of his hand on the base of her back his thumb gently stroking her velvety skin, which allowed her to relax (but truth be told she also found it quite arousing too). Now and again she would brush her lips against his jaw. Anyone watching would have thought it was the most natural position in the world for them.

Eventually Gustafson made his way back to them.

“Cody, Gabriella. Are you enjoying my little get-together?”

“Oh Emil, don’t be so modest. You know this is going to be the social gathering of the year.” Coulson told him.

"Ah Cody, but this is nowhere near the event of the year.” He leaned close and whispered conspiratorially in Phil’s ear, “I may have another invite for you…”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“Now Emil, don’t be a tease.”

“Soon, dear Cody. Perhaps you’d like to bring the beautiful children you brought with you last time. I was so sad they couldn’t come tonight, ” he pouted.

Phil nodded. “Simone and Nathanial [Romanoff and Barton] are enjoying ‘other’ pleasures tonight.” he replied with a wistful note in his voice. “I’m just delighted you were willing to let us to take their places on such short notice. It's always a treat to come here.”

Gustafson clicked his fingers. Hill and Coulson could almost see the light bulb above his head.

“Perform for us; both of you. Tonight.”

OH CRAP! Coulson had played things too well. Maria had read the file and knew what “perform for us” meant and she was not about to have sex in front of this perverse, disgusting troll mission or not. Coulson better have a plan for getting them out of this. The way his thumb had stopped moving on her back and the sudden tension in his arm alerted her to the fact he hadn’t been expecting this either. 

“Emil, do you mean it? Really?” he said breathlessly.

Gustafson’s face immediately lit up. “Oh I’m so glad you’re pleased. Yes. Oh yes. Oh this will be so beautiful. You’re both so beautiful," and left to make preparations.

Immediately he was out of earshot Maria put her lips against Coulson’s ear in was could be mistaken for a sensual ear suck when in fact what she said was, “Seriously, Cody? What the fuck?”

Coulson closed his eyes and sighed, a smile playing on his lips. He pressed his face to her neck. “You've been spending too much time with Marcus. Do you trust me?”

She too closed her eyes with an expression of rapture on her face as he gently kissed her. “Oh yes.”

“Then trust me. Go to the bathroom, door at the end of the corridor. Then when you come back and see me, slap me and the rest is up to you just make sure Emil is watching.”

He kissed her long and deep then, with some effort it had to be said, Coulson always had been an excellent kisser, she pulled herself away and did as he asked.

Hill took her time in the bathroom then sauntered around helping herself to canapés and champagne waiting until she saw Emil approaching where she and Coulson had been standing. She laid down the still full glass and headed towards them then gasped as she saw Coulson with his tongue stuck down another woman’s throat.

She roared startling everyone round about not least Coulson and Gustafson, ripped the woman off his face, slapped her and then punched him yelling in Italian. She stalked back to the bathroom ranting and gesticulating furiously. Anyone near her gave her a wide berth.

The woman squealed running in the other direction. Coulson rubbed his jaw and Gustafson threw back is head and laughed. The party round them went back to normal, excitement over.

“Cody, Cody, Cody. She doesn’t like to share? That’s so disappointing.”

“No – she likes to share but she prefers to pick who we share with. I’m afraid I got carried away with your invite and didn’t wait.”

“You’re in trouble?”

“So much trouble.”

“Ah, that Latin temperament! Then you better make amends. I’ll make do with someone else tonight although I must say I'm feeling frustrated it won't be you.  No matter, I’ll be in touch soon with that invitation. Keep your calendar open and that of the beautiful children too. The four of you together would almost be too much.”

He kissed Coulson on the mouth then left. It took all Coulson’s willpower not to wipe is face with this hand but somehow he managed and went to find Hill.

“I'm pretty sure I said slap my face," he said when he found her.

“The punch made me feel better. It worked?”

“Like a charm." He held his face under a tap letting the water run into his mouth, trying to get the taste of Gustafson out. "Time to go and I trust you'll forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

"Do I have a choice?"

He looked apologetic.

"That's what I thought."

Although Emil was elsewhere they made a show of leaving knowing it would get back to him; Gabriella shouting at Cody until he grabbed her arm and took her aside to a receiving room where there was a more little privacy but still plenty of onlookers and backhanded her cross the face. They stared at each other breathing heavily. She froze for a second then grabbed him and kissed him long and hard. He threw her against a pillar and pressed his weight against her as he continued the kiss. Feeling his hardness against her she licked into his mouth, tongue rubbing against tongue, his hand on her breast caressing it but demanding not gentle. Then abruptly he tore himself away, grabbed her wrist roughly and hauled her out of the door.

 

**PART 2**

Coulson’s undercover cell phone went off. He read the name on caller id and mentally cursed. He pressed ‘accept’ and lobbed his pen at Barton who was stretched out on Coulson’s couch in his office.

“Emil! So wonderful to hear your voice. How are you?”

Barton rolled off the couch sideways into a sitting position instantly alert listening to Coulson’s side of the conversation.

“Oh please! Ah, well, as a matter of fact I do have plans. Oh don’t sound so disappointed. You know I’ll cancel them for one of your parties; and Gabriella, yes. I can check but I’m sure Simone and Nathanial will be available. They were desperately sorry they missed the last gathering.”

Barton rolled his eyes and mimed sticking his fingers down his throat and throwing up. Coulson flipped him off and continued the conversation.

“Splendid, Emil. We’ll see you tonight. No, I assure you, the pleasure’s all mine.”

He ended the call and sat back heavily on his seat blowing air out between pursed lips in a silent whistle.

“So it’s finally on then,” said Barton, a statement rather than a question.

Coulson nodded.

“Not much notice. Do you know what’s going down?”

“Haven’t got a clue, just that it’s going to be “quite the event”.”

“Hill’s going to lose her shit when she finds out she’s going back.”

“I dare say I have the dubious pleasure of breaking the joyous news to her.”

“It’s why they pay you the big bucks, boss.”

“I guess that means you tell Romanoff then.”

“Fuck that with bells on. Hey, you can tell them together. They can’t both kill you.” And he grinned before pushing up the vent and disappearing into ventilation shafts above.

Coulson groaned and banged his forehead on the desk. Actually he was pretty sure they could.

***

Once again Coulson and Hill were dressed in tuxedo and evening gown respectively and similarly attired were Barton and Romanoff also looking extremely hot as a couple. They gathered at Gustafson’s mansion and although the four of them made quite a picture they couldn’t begin to compare to the astounding sight of Emil Gustafson who greeted them at the door.

He was in traditional upper Samurai class clothing (Kamishimo) made up of white hakama (pleated pants) and kataginu (pleated vest).  These he wore over a knee-length kimono, and again this was white. It was not an auspicious start to the evening – white was often associated with death and mourning, this connection seemed to be the most likely as it was reinforced with the white carnations in the buttonholes of the male guests (the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents obviously didn’t get that particular memo as they were somewhat lacking in floral arrangements).

In addition to the clothing Gustafson was wearing a daisho (big/little), comprising of two swords; a katana and wakizashi tucked into the side of an uwa-obi. He also wore a matching tantō tucked into the front of the obi (not generally worn with the daisho but what the hell, it showed how rich and important he was). His hair was too short to be pulled into a top knot but it was heavily greased and slicked back. And to top it all off he was waving an ivory fan in front of his face.

The four agents looked at each other with barely disguised eye rolls. What the fuck?

“Ah you came, Agent Coulson and you brought agents Romanoff, Barton and I believe Hill with you. How very exciting!”

They looked at each other again but with a serious edge this time. What. The. Fuck?

At least twenty of the ‘guests’ pulled guns and high voltage tasers aiming them at the four agents. Additional fire power was evident from the gallery overlooking the entrance where they were standing. Following Coulson’s lead, silently they raised their hands out to their sides, palms facing forward. Now was not the time to put up a fight, they had to know what was going down first then alert the S.H.I.E.L.D. teams standing by.

“Now that you’re here we can begin. Search them, keep them apart and bring them to the ring in ten minutes. Shinran and I must prepare to greet them first.”

The four agents looked at each other one last time. Seriously now…WHAT THE FUCK?!

***

After being thoroughly and intimately being searched (although fortunately not enough to find the tracking devices), followed by ten minutes of being glared at in silence by a dozen armed guards Coulson, Barton, Romanoff and Hill were finally led into the basement room. Emil Gustafson sat on what could only be described as a monstrous throne at one end on a raised platform; a blood soaked cloth lay on the floor beside him and his Kamishimo was spattered with arterial spray and other blood spatter. The sight could either be considered terrifying or ridiculous but there he was holding court over his depraved associates and their various partners/business associates/friends clapping and cheering, baying for more blood. His group of followers surrounded a ring in which several mutilated bodies lay sprawled on the floor at the edges of the circle. This was to be tonight’s entertainment and it would appear the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were the main attraction.

Gustafson stood from his throne and addressed the crowd who fell silent as he raised his arms.

“I am Emil Gustafson, son of Gustaf Anderson, son of Anders Erikson. I call upon those of you here tonight to witness the punishment for the crime of deceit perpetrated against this noble family by the four traitorous dogs standing before you. They have abused the hospitality generously provided by this house and in turn, intend to turn me and mine over to an authority I do not recognise and therefore has no jurisdiction here. I hereby decree the punishment for their disloyalty and treachery is…death.” The crowd roared their approval. Oh boy, this was going to be fun!

He turned to the four. “What say you?”

Barton furious at the needless and violent death in the ring answered before Coulson could stop him.

“Fuck you, you motherfucker!” he spat.

“Very well. Choose your first…your first to die.” Melodramatic much?

Arms folded across his chest, face reading inscrutable, Coulson groaned inwardly while doing a mental face palm. Well that could have gone better.

A brief discussion ensued between Barton and Romanoff taking it for granted one of them would take Gustafson out.

“Do you know how to use one of those?” asked Romanoff nodding to the katana in its scabbard on the floor.

“I can swing it. I’m bound to hit something.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Very technical.”

As Romanoff and Barton continued their “technical discussion” Coulson stepped forward into the circle and lifted the katana.  The crowd roared again which snapped the other two around.

“Fuck!” they said at the same time and turned to Hill who shrugged. She nodded at Coulson who was returning to the small group.

“What the fuck?” asked Barton. “Do you even know which end to hold?”

"I've seen a few movies, Barton - 'The Princes Bride' has several excellent sword fights," Coulson deadpanned.

"Oh. That's...reassuring...Sir. Different fucking sword but that's okay."

"How different can it be? You either stab them with the pointy end or chop something off with lots of noise and mess. Cakewalk."

"It was also a fucking fairytale, but hey...that's fine too."

"Aw Barton, you care. That's so sweet."

"Fuck off, Sir."

As he spoke Phil gave the sword to Maria then undid his bow tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt. He slipped off his jacket and handed it along with his tie to Maria and took back the katana.

He held the weapon up in a stance which stretched the muscles across his back. He could feel the pull of his shirt across his shoulders, which was tight and uncomfortable preventing him from moving freely.

“Shit. This is a fitted dress shirt.”

“Well if that’s all that’s worrying you, I’m sure we can pick you up a new one.”

Coulson stared at him fighting hard not to roll his eyes.

“Really, Baron? It constricts movement; I can’t flex or stretch wearing it.”

Clint nodded understanding. He would be the same if he was trying to use his bow right now.

“Sorry, boss.”

Coulson unfastened the rest of the buttons and removed the cufflinks, finally shrugging the shirt off to reveal a broad hairy chest, wide shoulders and powerful arms all peppered with scars or old bullet wounds. He wasn't overly muscular with defined rock-hard abs and pecks but, while not quite in Barton’s league, he was very well-developed from years of martial arts practice, army training and throwing new recruits and junior agents around. Certainly he was creating quite a stir with the people nearest them who began murmuring with appreciation.

Not giving a fuck, he handed the shirt to Maria.

“Look on the bright side,” Clint said eyeing his chest. “Maybe you can distract him with that fine, manly body of yours long enough to cut his head off.”

This time Coulson did roll his eyes. He toed off his shoes and removed his socks. Apart from his tuxedo pants the only thing he left on was his cummerbund and he would have need of that shortly. Once again he took the katana back from Hill.

“How long do we need?” he whispered to her leaning in as though to kiss her, which he did anyway; it could be his last day on earth after all.

She dropped his clothes and wrapped her arms round him and in a soft voice said, “Since we activated the trackers, twenty to thirty minutes from arrival to breach depending on how heavy his security is and if the signal got through. Who knows what sort of jamming devices this asshole has.”

He nodded.

“Enough!” roared Gustafson. “Coulson, step forward and prepare to meet your doom. Then I’ll fuck your woman before I kill her.”

Finally having had enough of the theatrics Hill muttered furiously, “I’d like to see him try.  Your woman?! Asshole!”

“Seriously, it this dick for real or from a comic book?” added Romanoff.

As Coulson left them, Barton quipped, “’My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’ _”_

The corner of Coulson's mouth twitched up in a smile causing his eyes to crinkle as he walked back into the ring towards Gustafson who made no secret of taking in Coulson’s half-naked form licking his lips and rubbing himself through his hakama. Maybe Barton was right about the distraction ploy. He’d bear it in mind.

Taking the katana in his left hand Coulson held it in front of him by the centre of the saya he touched the back of this right hand to the tsuka before pulling the katana out in one smooth action. The saya he tucked behind his cummerbund and the katana he held in a two handed grip. Coulson moved seamlessly into a perfect chudan, the opening stance of Samurai Kenjutsu; his right foot forward,his relaxed body squared toward Gustafson holding the katana pointed forward at an upward angle.

“What the hell?” whispered Romanoff.

“You heard him, he’s seen some movies,” replied Clint understanding there was obviously a lot more to it than that.

Hill just smiled. It really never paid to underestimate Phillip J Coulson. Her income was regularly supplemented through betting on him when others only saw the suit and didn’t bother to think about the wearer.

His body still, Coulson replied calmly, “I, Phillip Coulson hereby pronounce that your accusations of deceit, treachery and disloyalty are false and that you, Emil Gustafson, son of Gustaf Anderson, son of Anders Erikson shall apologise or…you can go fuck yourself and die like the mad fucker you are.”

There was shocked silence from the crowd other than Barton, Romanoff and Hill who paused for a split second, then as one clapped, cheered and whistled their approval until they were silenced by their captors with fists, backhands and finally guns pointing at their heads.

Gustafson’s eyes narrowed and his hand stopped rubbing his crotch. He stood from his throne and walked slowly down the steps towards Coulson. To the untrained eye Gustafson appeared unruffled but Coulson could see his left eye had a tic and his jaw was clenched, the muscles tight; he’d hit a nerve either by calling him mad or with his language. Either way it was good for him to know; he could use it to his advantage and hopefully provoke the other man into making a mistake. Gustafson was trying to cultivate an image of refinement and honour (rubbing his cock in public and threatening to fuck Hill aside) so for him to respond with anger would cause him to lose face in front of his followers. It wouldn’t happen immediately but he could wear him down if need be. Coulson knew he could be a complete asshole when necessary.

“I’m disappointed, Agent Coulson. I thought you were perhaps the first person to give me a challenge but now I see you’re just a lowly dog like all the others that have come before you,” indicating to the bodies lying nearby.

“Uh-huh. Big talk sad sack. How about you stop dicking around in your party dress and we do this.”

Barton, Hill and Romanoff’s mouths were open. They’d seen and heard Coulson successfully deal with high level motherfuckers before but this was a whole new side of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent. He was positively enjoying himself facing off some jumped-up asshole while wielding a Samurai sword half-naked in a basement with armed guards surrounded by a mob on a bloodlust. This was some seriously fucked up shit even by S.H.I.E.L.D. standards.

Wasting no time and taking an unusual approach, Coulson attacked, katana raised striking down towards Gustafson’s head. Gustafson slashed at Coulson’s stomach, but even as he was completing his own move Coulson was turning to the side and stepping back to avoid the stroke. He counter-attacked but was blocked by Gustafson. These were test blows each trying to determine the skill and strength of his opponent.  They backed away and circled each other having gained a small measure of each other. Coulson was holding plenty in reserve so he had no doubt Gustafson was doing the same.

This happened several times over the next fifteen/twenty minutes with no blood being spilled but a thin film of sweat was beginning to appear on Phil’s torso. Although the swordplay was fast and exciting when it happened there were long periods of deliberation in between as each planned their next move, the crowd was beginning to get restless during these intervals. Gustafson had dispatched everyone else within a few moments with much gore and dismemberment which had thrilled the bloodthirsty rabble. Some had even pushed through to get to the front so that they could feel the warm blood as it sprayed out of the unwilling victims. This time the combatants seemed to be evenly matched and so far the rules of Kenjutsu were being observed however loosely.  The attacks were in measured bursts of activity and not like the movies where there were wild flurries of prolonged action. This was more to do with strategy rather than entertainment. 

Suddenly Gustafson let out a blood curdling scream which scared the shit out of the crowd and launched himself at Coulson. They ended up face to face their tsubo tangled together until Coulson head butted Gustafson above his eye opening a cut in his eyebrow. His followers roared their disapproval.

“No code of honour! No Bushido!” Gustafson cried out touching his hand to his head looking at the blood as he took it away again. Then he noticed Coulson now had two swords in this possession. He looked down at his uwa-obi and saw his wakizashi was missing. If Coulson knew what to do with two swords, he was fucked.

Coulson smiled like a cat deciding he’d had enough of tormenting the mouse and was about to despatch it to rodent heaven. Although he could fight in a tradition two-hand grip, he much preferred Niten-Ichi-Ryu technique fighting with two swords. It was more efficient and powerful and involved no flashy, impulsive or unwanted movements. It also had another advantage in that it offered perfect distancing and timing. Consequently, the attack would be very tight. Gustafson was fucked.

Coulson moved back to the chudan stance but this time with two swords raised, right hand slightly higher than the left so that both tips were on one line at shoulder height aiming at Gustafson’s throat.

“Gustafson, step forward and prepare to meet your doom,” called Coulson throwing the man’s words back at him.

“Fuck yeah!” hissed Barton.

Romanoff slapped him upside the head before the guard could. The guard sniggered, completely missing Hill removing his gun from his holster and his knife from his leg sheath.

Clint pouted at the injustice of it rubbing his head. “I’m just saying.”

“Shoosh!” instructed Hill slapping him on the other side. A second guard suffered the same fate with Romanoff’s light fingers.

Gustafson removed his tantō from its saya very much aware that Coulson had the advantage both with the slightly longer blade which would give him better reach plus he seemed to know exactly what he was doing and that was unnerving.

Gustafson had never actually come up against someone with Phil’s ability before; generally the ‘traitorous dogs’ were junkies, down and outs, or ex-vets down on their luck and not having eaten enough meals to be much of a threat any more. Neither had he fought with two blades preferring to stick with the traditional single sword two-handed grip.

However he did know how to throw and with full force launched his blade at Coulson who managed to turn at the last second. It was fortunate he had, if he hadn’t the blade would have entered his chest and most likely his heart. As it was the scalpel-sharp edge of the tantō cut deep into the pectoral muscle, opening a six or seven inch gash which began to pour with blood mixing with the sweat that lightly coated his upper body. The crowd roared waiting for Coulson to fall and Gustafson to kill him in bloody fashion.

The three agents flinched watching the blood flow. Coulson couldn’t hold out for long with that type of injury.

“Ha! Your boss is fucked now,” laughed guard two. Romanoff narrowed her eyes – she was going to enjoy killing him.

Moving back to the same stance as before, arms raised Coulson stated in his composed manner, “Strategy is the craft of the warrior.” If your plan is to throw things at me like a five year old kid to break my concentration, you are sadly mistaken, my fucked up friend.”

The crowd went silent, admiring the agent’s courage.

This was it; Gustafson lost it and charged at Coulson who stood his ground. As Gustafson wielded his sword in downward stroke, Coulson blocked it with the wakizashi and slashed his neck with the katana embedding it into muscle and bone. Gustafson sank to his knees blood gushing from the wound and dripping from his mouth; he was dead before he fell over.

At the same time it sounded like all hell had broken lose upstairs. The back up had arrived which motivated Barton, Romanoff and Hill into action to the soundtrack of screams from the crowd as they fled to the exits. Romanoff cut guard two’s throat with his own knife then moved swiftly onto the next despatching him with equal proficiency. Hill sank the knife she’d removed into guard one’s neck and lost no time moving on to the next one taking him out with a blade to the stomach. Barton took out another two by hand before procuring a knife and sidearm for himself which he used to carve his way through guards and the mob…as far as he was concerned there were no innocents here this night other than those who had already died.

One of the few remaining guards aimed his handgun at Coulson who was beginning to sway on his feet. Both Romanoff and Hill shot him (three in the head, three in the spine) as Barton ran towards his handler catching him as he fell. By now Coulson’s torso was crimson and his cummerbund and dress pants were soaked as the blood flowed. Barton almost lost his grip as he laid the agent down cradling him in his lap.

“So, you’ve seen some movies, huh Boss?” he asked gently, clamping Coulson’s shirt over the gaping wound attempting to staunch the blood. Coulson grimaced with pain as the adrenaline wore off enough for him to suddenly feel the damage the tantō had inflicted.

“A few, yeah. Fuck Barton! Is that my shirt?” he asked weakly.

Barton snorted out a worried laugh. “Eh, yeah? Well I wasn’t taking mine off.”

“This is why we can’t have nice things.” he said sadly, closing his eyes.

“Phil? Stay with me, Phil.”

Romanoff and Hill finally managed to reach them having taken out the rest of guards and anyone else who got in their way. Hill took in the situation; the shirt was soaked red, if the medics didn’t get here soon Coulson could bleed to death. Although desperate to stay with Coulson she disappeared to get hold of a team and with the way she looked – face, hands and dress bloody – and an expression to frighten the devil himself, guaranteed they would be here in double quick time.

*** 

Thirty three hours later Coulson woke up in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical, attached to a drip with his chest patched and wrapped in bandages. His mouth was dry and his the wound hurt like a bitch. A freshly showered and changed Strike Team Delta plus one honorary member, Agent Hill, waited for him to come round. Barton noticed first.

 “So, boss. Tell me how you learned those fucking awesome ninja skills.”

“Barton, I was never a ninja…always a Samurai.”

**Author's Note:**

> Clothing and sword names and terms:  
> kamishimo = traditional upper Samurai class clothing  
> hakama = pleated pants/skirt  
> kataginu = pleated front vest  
> uwa-obi (himo) = belt/sash
> 
> daisho = (big/little) matched pair of Japanese swords (nihonto)  
> katana = long sword  
> wakizashi = sidearm (smaller companion sword)  
> tantō = dagger or knife (or short blade to accompany the katana instead of the wakizashi)  
> saya = scabbard  
> tsuka = handle  
> tsuba = hand guard
> 
> Niten-Ichi-Ryu = two sword fighting technique developed back in 17th century Japan by Musashi Miyamoto, legendary sword master.


End file.
